


21st Century Learning

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Baseball, Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Ichabod Crane vs. the 21st Century, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I would like to possess the ability to use my arms to hit this infernal ball," Ichabod muttered, again returning to his stance. "I am relaxed, I am focussed, I am one with the bat," he continued, this time to himself. "I possess control over my actions. I <i>will </i>learn to hit a baseball."</p><p>
  <b>Prompt: Imagine your OTP playing <strike>basketball </strike>baseball. Person A is horrible.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	21st Century Learning

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from the OTP Prompts Tumblr, although I changed it from basketball to baseball since that's more special to the show. <3 Basket-face.
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thank you!

"Miss Mills!" Ichabod tried and failed not to glare towards the laughing Lieutenant maybe ten feet away. "This is most decidedly not humorous!"

"S-Sorry," Abbie chuckled. "It's just... you can't hit a ball to save your life."

Ichabod most assuredly did _not_ huff in that moment. "Must you stand so far away?"

"Crane, pitchers stand further away than this!"

"And, as we have proven, I am failing at this sport," Ichabod replied. "So, unless you would like to continue pitching until sundown, please step forward."

Abbie laughed, but obliged. She moved forward until she was nearing five feet away from him. Ichabod was more confident about this. Surely he couldn't miss from this distance.

"Alright," he said, curling his fingers tightly around the bat. The smooth exterior of the bat was pleasant against his hands, although he gathered that most professionals wore gloves and used bats made of aluminium.

He shifted into stance - something Abbie had taught him - and raised the bat to his shoulder. "Alright," he repeated, focussing on the ball. "I'm ready."

"Positive?"

"I am positive, Lieutenant," he muttered, tightening his grip on the bat. His fingers hurt. So did his arm. He was determined.

"Right. Here it comes."

Ichabod followed the ball's movements, watched it leave the Lieutenant's hand, and swung in what he thought was the proper timing to hit the ball. He instead hit only air, the sound of the bat cutting through it _whoosh_ ing into his ears.

Now as well as determined, he was frustrated. He had a few stern words hammering the inside of his skull at current time.

"This is most irksome," he said out loud, turning on his heel to retrieve the ball that had blew past him. She wasn't even throwing it that hard; he still lacked the ability to hit it. "Again," he called, raising his voice.

He curled his fingers around the ball and threw it back, pressing each of his fingers into his palm briefly as a means of controlling his emotions. Baseball was not an emotional sport. He had to be calm, and collected.

"At least you can pitch," Abbie said, having to jump to catch the ball. "You've got a good arm."

"I would like to possess the ability to use my arms to hit this infernal ball," Ichabod muttered, again returning to his stance. "I am relaxed, I am focussed, I am one with the bat," he continued, this time to himself. "I possess control over my actions. I _will_ learn to hit a baseball."

Abbie threw the ball again.

There was something exceedingly satisfying about the crack of the bat meeting the ball. The vibrations shook all the way to his fingers as the ball flew across the field.

"Woah!"

Ichabod looked at the bat in his hand, blinking in surprise. He'd hit the ball. He really had hit the _ball_.

"Run!"

Ichabod looked up again; Abbie was running for the ball he'd just hit. He knew this part of the game. After hitting the ball, the batter then tried to run to first, second, or third, in that order, and if their hit was a very good one, rounding back to ‘home plate’ before the outfield team could get to the base with the ball. He also knew that Abbie was humouring him now, since they were not actually playing a real game.

Nevertheless, he smiled to himself and ran. It was good practice for fleeing from creatures if nothing else.

"Drop the bat, Crane!"

"Oh. Right!" Ichabod glanced at the bat in his hands, backtracked to home plate to set it gently on the ground, and then started running again.

 


End file.
